


paper cuts

by espressohno



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Christmas, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm not sorry, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, it's a coffeeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espressohno/pseuds/espressohno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was just one big, happy, drunk(except for Jim), family. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>	Which was an ironic statement, because their family consisted of a recovering alcoholic, a college student who could hardly speak English, a vandal with a Master’s degree, a business owner who should be a model, a Vulcan who makes coffee instead of algorithms, and a maintenance man with a Scottish accent whose name they had just learned an hour ago. </em></p><p>  <em>	But it felt like family, and it felt like Christmas, and it was the exact opposite of why Jim had started drinking in the first place. </em></p><p>Star Trek coffeeshop au where Jim fucks off to Seattle after being suspended from the academy. he moves in with Bones and manages to swing a job working at a coffee shop and also finds love. you know the drill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rehearsed hospitality

Jim woke up on Bones’s couch to the sound of him making breakfast in the kitchen. He was still wearing clothes from the day-hell, the week-before. He felt like bombs were constantly going off inside his skull. Additionally, he had a combination of both hunger and nausea, which wasn’t helping his situation at all. One would think he would be used to hangovers by now, but this morning was much worse for a number of reasons.

1\. Jim had been travelling for most of yesterday, all while completely drunk.

2\. He travelled to Seattle, and got lost finding Bones’s apartment. Twice. In the rain. Jim was so fucking done with rain by now, and he had only been in Seattle for seven hours.

3\. Bones promptly beat the shit out of him the moment he opened the door, which he half expected, but still wasn’t fully prepared for.

Bones sat down in the chair across from the couch and slammed a plate on the table deliberately loudly. Other than his attempts to make Jim feel worse physically, he didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t ask for an explanation as to why he showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night drunk and soaking wet. Neither did he mention the fact that it was the first time he had seen Jim in two and a half years. Bones did, however, glare at him for a while, and make as much noise as he possibly could before leaving the apartment to go to work. Jim fell back into painful but necessary sleep, feeling both loved and hated, but mostly hated.

He woke up to the sound of rain. He hated rain so much. He hated everything, himself included. Except Bones was okay, because otherwise he wouldn’t have a couch to sleep on.

He threw up until it felt like he didn’t have any organs left and then took a shamefully long shower. By the time he got out Bones was back from work, and Jim was relieved to see that this time he looked slightly less murder-y and more amused than anything else. He was probably just admiring the fact that he was able to give Jim a black eye at 4 AM while he was still half asleep. They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, even though Jim was sitting on his couch wearing a towel.

“You can borrow some of my clothes, since you probably didn’t bring any.” Bones glanced at the torn up backpack, which was the only luggage Jim had brought with him from god knows where. Was he still supposed to be at Starfleet? He didn’t know. He wasn’t going to ask, especially while Jim was hungover. Bones had learned not to ask potentially personal questions to anyone when they were hungover.

Jim nodded and Bones directed him to his bedroom. He suddenly felt like a horrible person, because Bones let him inside his house without a second thought and hadn't bothered to ask for an explanation. Jim wasn’t confident that he could do anything remotely close to that for other people. He was angry and sad and had no idea how to show gratitude without disclosing personal information that even he didn’t want to know about himself anymore. He figured Bones would act like he normally did and insist that it was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing. He had shown up unannounced, in the middle of the night, looking like a complete mess, after more than two years of hardly any contact. It wasn’t nothing. It was something. It was a big something that Jim really wanted to fix, but the last couple months of his life were proof that he was terrible at fixing things.

If the circumstances were normal, he would have mentioned the articles of women’s clothing in Bones’s closet, hung as if there was someone else who occasionally stayed  in the apartment. He would have, except asking personal questions usually becomes a two way street. He sat back down on the couch wearing clothes that were slightly too big. Jim leaned back and stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on something stationary that wouldn’t result in dizziness. He couldn’t decide if what he was hearing was distant thunder or the pounding of yesterday’s bad decisions in his brain. Bones was looking at something on his PADD, most likely something medical.

“The first step,” He muttered nonchalantly, his eyes staying focused on the screen, “would be to stop drinking.”

“Thanks, mom.” Jim said, rubbing his fists over his eyes until he could see stars. “But at this point I don’t think a twelve step program is going to work anymore than it has in the past.”

“Well you better make it work, or you can’t stay here.”

Jim suddenly opened his eyes, registering that he was just given permission to stay. Bones had just indirectly offered him a place to live as if it was something completely normal. Maybe he had gotten so used to people treating him like shit, because it actually genuinely surprised him that Bones was being nice.

He forced himself to say “thank you” and tried to make it sound genuine, because it was genuine, and he felt extremely guilty and quite possibly like the worst friend ever.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.” And Jim smiled because that was the Leonard McCoy he knew, the one who absolutely hated talking about feelings regardless of the context. Bones got up to replicate dinner for the both of them, even though Jim’s breakfast was still sitting untouched on the coffee table. For the rest of the evening, the air in the apartment wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable. They sat at the table and didn’t bother to keep conversation, because every topic would somehow end in _Why are you here, anyway?_ Jim forced himself to eat so Bones didn’t have to.

He knew they would have to talk about the situation sooner or later, but he decided he could avoid it for at least a few hours.

* * *

The apartment was flooded with dull light the next morning, and Jim was glad it wasn’t raining for once, even if he would never see the sun again as long as he was in Seattle. He padded into the kitchen and made coffee, feeling surprisingly okay. He wasn’t very good at making coffee, but at least it made him feel like he was being useful.

Jim leaned against the counter waiting for the caffeine to kick in and trying to decide what he would do about the apartment. He didn’t know if there was a spare bedroom or not. He also didn’t know if Bones would allow him to stay long enough that he had to start paying rent. He stared out of the kitchen window at what he decided was the most depressing city in the world. How did anyone manage to live here? San Francisco was sunny and only rained a few months out of the year. The only problem was that San Francisco had as many bad memories as Seattle had clouds. For the first time in a really long time, Jim thought fondly of Iowa.

Bones’s mood took a pleasant turn when he walked in the kitchen to find there was already coffee. He downed half of it at once, frowned at the floor for a minute, and then acknowledged Jim’s existence in the kitchen. He made a face that could be followed up with a demand for an explanation, but the message had already gotten across.

“They kicked me out, alright?” Jim tried really hard to sound indifferent and not defensive about the subject. Bones leaned against the counter, willing him to elaborate.

“I messed up one too many times. Showed up to class drunk or hungover or didn’t show up at all. Broke some shit. I might have injured someone, I don’t remember. Point is, they’re not even going to consider letting me reapply unless I clean up my act.” He made quotation marks with his hands at the last few words.

“Alright.” Bones finished his coffee. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan.” Jim set his mug down on the counter and leaned against it with both hands. “I don’t have a plan. You’re kind of the only person I was able to track down. I needed to get away from there, you know?” It was a question that he didn’t ask, but it still hung in the air like streamers from a disappointing birthday party, begging to be taken down once someone accepted the reality of the situation.

“If you want to stay here, just ask, dammit. I have a spare bedroom.” He walked over to the refrigerator and half-glared from behind the door until Jim processed what he just said.

“Ok. Um. Can I stay with you, then? At least until I figure something out.” Bones laughed. He felt uncomfortable, because Bones was being too nice to him considering what an asshole he had been.

“Yeah. But get a job or something. I’m a doctor not a charity worker.”

Jim smiled, and for a few seconds it was as if nothing had changed between them. Bones looked like he was considering breakfast, and then decided against it and started walking to the bathroom.

“So who is she?” Jim called out after him, hoping his usual nosiness would lead Bones to think everything was going to be normal from then on out.

“Fuck you.” Bones shut the bathroom door, and both of them felt relieved, because Jim was being his annoying self again and it meant the unspoken apologies and bad feelings were done with, at least for now. Jim laughed over the sound of the shower turning on and decided it would be a good idea to do laundry, so he could change into clothes that actually fit him well. He didn’t bother with any sort of farewell when Bones left for the hospital, but he made sure to shoot him a smug look, implying that he wasn’t going to let the question slip away just yet.

Jim did laundry and went for a walk outside and hated Seattle for a few hours. It started to rain and he had to run back to the apartment, which only resulted in him slamming the door against the slanted raindrops, head throbbing from the activity. He didn’t want to think about how unbelievably not easy this “cleaning up his act” would be. Bones would certainly lecture him about it the next time he got the chance, or probably _every_ time he got the chance.

Returning to San Francisco would be even harder. His heart sank into his chest when he remembered all of the people who once were proud of him telling him he had to leave. Pike, who often said too much in uncomfortable situations, hadn’t said anything to Jim, refusing to look him in the eyes. It was as if all of the times he had said _your father would be proud_ or something gross and encouraging were completely forgotten. Jim’s father would be disappointed. He didn’t need Pike, or anyone for that matter, to point that out.

He remembered Gaila, the one person who had ever called him their best friend first instead of as a response, and the way she bit her lip to keep it from trembling while he told her the truth of why he was leaving. Jim thought about calling her, but hearing her voice would only make him feel worse, because she had probably already forgiven him. At this point, it didn’t make sense for anyone to bother being nice to him. He didn’t deserve Gaila’s forgiveness and he definitely didn’t deserve to be welcomed into Bones’s apartment after everything that had happened. Jim sat on the cold floor of the apartment and tried desperately to think about anything else.

Bones’s apartment was very much how one would expect it to be. It was neat only because he was hardly there. Tables and bookshelves were full of evidence that he used to have a life outside being a doctor-extended book collections, photographs, what looked like scale models of atoms and molecules and body parts-but at the same time it was as if every moment before Bones became a doctor had been spent thinking about becoming a doctor. Maybe he wasn’t into keeping things around for sentimental reasons. Jim used to be sentimental, until he decided that he hated everything about his life. He thought of all the random junk in his room at Starfleet, and the likelihood that had all been disposed of.

He slumped onto the couch, which smelled significantly of alcohol(something Bones was bound to notice), and decided to read the closest book within reach. It was about basic anatomy and medical information regarding alien species. The writing style was pretty boring, but Jim liked it better than being alone with himself. He was in the middle of an overview of the Vulcan circulatory system when he received a message on his comm, and was relieved to see it was from Bones and not someone from Starfleet.

> surgery. at least five hours. bring coffee.

> how much?

> as much as you can afford from the coffee shop near the apartment. your coffee sucks.

>ouch.

>wasn’t going to say it earlier, but frankly I don’t give a shit if you’re still fragile. I need good coffee.

_Fragile_. As much as he didn’t want to think so, he probably had come off as fragile, especially since he was still wearing the aftermath of a black eye and avoiding any topic of conversation to ultimately avoid talking about Starfleet.

Jim reluctantly searched for his wallet and prepared to face the rain that wasn’t even considering stopping anytime soon. The only umbrella left in the apartment was a rich fuscia color, which probably belonged to Bones’s mystery lady friend. He pulled on his leather jacket. Even though it didn’t get much cleaner after washing it, he didn’t mind, because it seemed like it was the only piece of him he had left. All of the other pieces of him that weren’t still in San Francisco had washed into Seattle storm drains and drowned in alcohol along the way. Jim was sick and empty and hardly felt like himself. He figured he should try and contact his mother, because the two of them finally had something in common.

Damn, he was coming off as fragile.

In the end he didn’t bring the umbrella, because it probably wouldn’t hold up against the storm and fuschia really wasn’t his color. He was right about the first one. The wind had stripped the trees almost completely naked of their leaves, which were only half turned, even though it was already October. As a result, the sidewalk was coated in wet leaves and it was really gross to walk through. The streets were also starting to enter rush hour. With the exception of a few, all of the cars were different shades of gray, white, and black. It was as if the everyone had gotten together and coordinated how to make the city as depressing as possible.

Jim inhaled the thick autumn air, which held the sweet aroma of dirt and smoke. He swung open the door of the coffee shop, fighting against the wind to shove himself inside. It was surprisingly quaint, probably an attempt at authentic coffee shops from years before. Rain blew in and sprayed the tables closest to the door. One kid looked up from reading the newspaper and said something in Russian that was _definitely_ profane, judging by the complementary glare that followed Jim to the counter.

There were only two people behind the counter, and he couldn’t decide who to focus on. The one behind the latte machine was tall, thin, and beautiful enough that she could probably control people just by looking at them a certain way. Her long, dark hair was messily tied into a bun, but she still looked like she had walked right out of a fashion magazine. She was replacing coffee filters, and Jim’s nose finally forgot about the crowded streets to appreciate the nostalgic scent of real coffee.

Her co worker looked completely different but was equally as stunning. His jet black hair was perfectly cut and contrasted with ivory skin. After a couple seconds Jim realized he was looking at a Vulcan, who was also looking right at him. What was a Vulcan doing working in the service industry on Earth?

Taking his coffee order, apparently.

“What can I get for you?” He asked, with rehearsed hospitality, Jim noted.

He took all of the money he had in his wallet, which turned out to be less than he thought.

“As many cups of coffee as I can buy.”

The Vulcan who was mysteriously working as a barista quickly counted the money and sorted it into the register, giving him his neatly folded change.

“Your dozen coffees should be ready in eleven point five minutes.” Jim nodded and stepped out of the way for the next customer. He looked at headlines on the newspaper stand, awkwardly tugging at the hem of his jacket and still feeling disoriented from the pouring rain. Down near the bottom of the rack was the paper for inter-planet news, or whatever they called it. Jim remembered seeing them at Starfleet, in students hands and on teachers’ desks. He didn’t realise he was picking up the issue until it was already in front of his face, and his heart sank at the sight of his own name.

_JAMES KIRK, SON OF GEORGE KIRK OF THE USS KELVIN, EXPELLED FROM STARFLEET_

Well, damn. Now everyone knows. Jim was upset that they would release information like that about him without consent, but he didn’t deserve to be treated with that kind of respect anyway. There was a picture that went along with it, from his first year at the academy. At least it was a flattering picture to outweigh an article that would most likely be humiliating.

_ON THURSDAY MORNING AT APPROXIMATELY 8:15, James Tiberius Kirk, a third year student at Starfleet academy, attended class under the influence of alcohol. Although this kind of behavior is not completely uncommon and normally results in a warning, this was not his first offence and he became increasingly hostile and unruly as the morning progressed. Multiple anonymous sources have confirmed that Mr. James Kirk possesses Type I Alcoholism. “Being at Starfleet forced him to deal with a lot of unresolved issues from his past.” said a fellow student by the name of Gaila, who claims to be a close friend, “Alcohol must have been his coping mechanism, but he kept it well hidden from me. I didn’t find out until it was already too late.”_

_Mr. James Kirk was finally expelled from Starfleet for his misconduct, after other students and faculty testified that he had been present on campus while intoxicated a total of eight times in the past month and had caused a loud or violent outbreak three times in the past month. Kirk was seen boarding a train after his trial and has not been seen or heard from since. “I saw so much potential in him. We all did.” said Christopher Pike, officer and instructor at Starfleet, “This incident was a disappointment to us all. It pains me to imagine how his father would react if he were still here.”_

__

The article wasn’t done, but Jim was done reading it. He looked up from the paper angrily. Who does Pike think he is saying shit like that about his father? If George Kirk were still here Jim wouldn’t have picked up a drinking habit in the first place. He wanted someone to blame for all of this, but he couldn’t even blame Pike. All of his anger was directed towards himself.

The supermodel lady barista cleared her throat to get Jim’s attention and he noticed that his knuckles had gone white from clutching the newspaper.

“Uh. Sorry. I guess I should pay for this.”Jim realized what a fucking mess he must have looked like, soaking wet because he was dressed for San Francisco weather, still half hungover, and harassing a newspaper in the middle of a coffee shop. She was smiling at him, from what looked like a combination of sympathy and amusement.

“Keep it.” Jim tried to smile back as best as he could.

“Thanks.” He mumbled awkwardly, softening his grip on the paper.

“You’re not from here, are you?” She asked, moving to the far side of the counter to put lids on coffee cups.

“No.” He would have said something polite like _no ma’am_ or slightly flirty like _I’m glad I am now_ but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to say compound sentences anymore and it was all he could do to control the rage building up inside of him from that damn newspaper article.

“Well usually I would be friendly and ask how you managed to come to Seattle dressed like you live in the sunshine state, but you look really uncomfortable and you’re choking that paper like it just insulted your mother.” She set two coffee cup carriers on the counter. “Enjoy your coffee.”

Jim stuffed the newspaper in his jacket pocket and left the cafe, hoping that Bones wouldn’t notice the amount of rainwater that was bound to get into the coffee. The storm lightened a little, but it was still a pain to get to the hospital and by the time he burst into the pristine lobby he was more wet than he would have been if he had jumped into the ocean.

Aside from a few children and concerned friends-of-patients looking for a distraction, nobody noticed his entrance. The entire hospital was working in a rhythm, a steady beat of shoes on waxed tile and beeping monitors, everyone unfazed by the giant storm happening outside. Bones must have warned them that Jim was coming, because a plain-looking nurse emerged from the elevator and took the coffee from his hands without saying a word. Jim thought about sitting down for a while and seeing if the rain would calm down any more before the day ended, but he felt like nobody would appreciate him dripping all over the lobby. He ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his face and went outside again. God, he hated the rain. He also hated the fact that he would have to get used to rain.

On his way back Jim thought about the likeliness of hypothermia and whether or not is was worth tracking down family members in Iowa. It didn’t make him feel any better, but at least he wasn’t thinking about the article. He got a message on his comm and tried to shield it from the rain with his free hand.

>thanks for the coffee, by the way.

 

>no problem

>you should work at a coffee shop. maybe then you’ll learn how to use a coffee machine

>stop messaging me and be a doctor. people are dying.

>fine. but there’s rainwater in my coffee. i have an umbrella you know.

>you mean that blinding crime against humanity belongs to you?

>it was on sale.

>oh my god.

Jim actually laughed for the first time in days, and it felt good, even though he was cold and wet and miserable. He sped up his pace on the sidewalk, laughing and imagining Bones walking around in public with a fuschia umbrella with a completely serious expression. He passed the coffee shop again, pausing for a moment even though the apartment building was in plain sight. _What the hell_ , he thought, and walked inside again, this time opening the door less violently and only receiving a small glare from the kid who was still there for some reason. When Jim got to the counter he saw that both baristas were reading the article about him. He felt the blood rushing to his face, because even though it was an old picture and he looked like shit right now they were bound to connect the dots. He coughed awkwardly.

Both of them looked up at him with unreadable expressions, the Vulcan raising an eyebrow as if to ask _Are you James Tiberius Kirk, the alcoholic dropout?_ which was a question he really didn’t want to answer, but it was too late to back out, anyway. He uselessly wiped his wet hands on his equally soaked jeans.

“You wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would you?”

**  
  
**

 

**  
  
  
**

 

**  
  
**


	2. subconscious vibes of authority

The three of them were sitting at a table blanketed in dim light. It was half an hour past closing, and Jim’s job interview had turned into more of an interrogation. This was unfortunate because telling his life story was probably the last thing he wanted to be doing, and as the night progressed he only felt more horrible in every possible way. Regardless, he tried to look like he was interested and _eager_ to answer _every single fucking personal question she could think of._

After Jim had asked for a job, he was told to wait until closing and then they could talk about it. He wondered if that was something they did normally, or if they simply didn’t want any of the customers to know they were in the presence of James Tiberius Kirk, the alcoholic dropout.

The supermodel stopped being referred to in Jim’s mind as ‘the supermodel’ after she introduced herself as Uhura.

_“That’s an unfortunate first name.”_

_“It’s not my first name.”_

The Vulcan didn’t have to introduce himself because he was wearing a name tag with ‘Spock’ clearly written in print, because he was a Vulcan working in a place that Vulcans don’t work and he still did Vulcan things. Jim figured he would get an explanation sooner or later. He would have asked between customers except every time he looked up at the counter Uhura was judging him with her eyes and Spock was innocently avoiding the exchange. Neither of them spoke to him as they made the last few orders and cleaned the counters and tabletops. Finally Uhura pulled up a chair and sat, looking exhausted as if she had let a shield down in the absence of customers. Her first question was for his name and he was able to answer the rest of them respectfully until it was about 10:47 and both of them were upset and she asked about his father.

“What the hell does that have to do with this job?” Jim stopped slouching in his chair in hopes it would send subconscious vibes of authority. She mimicked his action from across the table.

“Because I think your father is the cause of your drinking problem.”

“I think you don’t know me.” He snapped, staring down at the table.

“That article taught me everything I need to know about you.”

“Nyota.” Spock half-whispered in warning.

“Then why do you need to ask questions?” Jim looked straight at her, and for one, glorious moment, she looked defeated by his comeback. She opened her mouth, about to say something that would definitely be offensive. Jim didn’t care; he knew how to play this game.

“Nyota.” Spock said louder, before she could say anything. Uhura looked at spock and then at her lap, shadows enveloping her face. She took a slow breath.

“Get the fuck out of my cafe.”

“He should be aware of the fact that 49% of the business is under my supervision.”

“Shut up Spock.”

Jim thought about saying something, but he couldn’t think of anything clever enough that he wouldn’t feel guilty for afterwards. He also wondered if you get withdrawals from alcoholism, because he suddenly felt really sick for no reason. Maybe Bones would know. Bones was a doctor.

Jim stood up and walked out. The street was dark and quiet and it wasn’t raining, but he couldn’t really enjoy that fact that it wasn’t raining. He let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn’t sure if he should curse himself for being an asshole, or if the situation with the newspaper article was just an unlucky turn of events and she was the one being an asshole. Either way something had set Uhura off and his natural response was to fight back with his words, in the same way he fought his emotions with alcohol. Neither of them had won, but neither had lost, either. Jim looked through the window one last time. He could see Spock speaking discreetly to Uhura but she wasn’t listening, instead choosing to glare at Jim until he went out of sight.

Halfway to the apartment he had to stop and vomit into a garbage can. It only went downhill from there, and five minutes later he was sitting on the bathroom floor and hating his life even more than he did two days ago, which must be some kind of record. He had stripped down to his underwear because _god, it was humid_ , and his skin was on fire and the floor was cold and nothing felt right, but it was close enough. In the moments when he wasn’t hurling all of his organs into the toilet, he was laying down on the tile and wondering what Bones’s reaction would be once he got home.

Probably laughter.

***

“Jim what the hell” Every syllable felt like a nail being shoved into his brain. Jim didn’t know how long he had been in the bathroom, but when he opened his eyes there was more light than before, and it only made his head ache more. It must have been morning, which is funny because he didn’t remember falling asleep, or feeling anything at all except horribly awakening nausea. He tried lifting his head from the floor to look at Bones, but gave up when it fell down again. He swallowed hard, not sick enough to throw up again but still too sick to function.

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

“Fuck.” Jim shut his eyes again and curved his body into a tighter ball. He thought recovery would be the end of hangovers, but this was worse than any hangover he’d had in all his years of drinking. This was a whole new level of hangover.

“I need to take a shower, Jim.”

“I’m not moving and you can’t make me.”

Bones was silent in the doorway for a minute, and then he sighed loudly and made his way into the bathroom. The sound of the shower was oddly relaxing and he managed to slip in and out of consciousness for a while, eventually falling into an unsatisfying sleep.

He could only remember bits and pieces of his dream, colors and shapes and words, but nothing specific. Whatever it was must have been bad, because he jolted awake, his muscles heavy with fatigue.

“You alright?” Bones called out from somewhere in the apartment. He must have taken the day off after the surgery. Jim forced himself off of the floor. He felt like his bones had been turned to lead. Eventually he managed to make his way into the living room, steadying himself on the wall with both hands. Bones was sitting on the couch looking relaxed. He folded the newspaper he was reading. Jim guessed it was the same article that had already managed to ruin his supposedly new life in Seattle. When Bones looked at him from the couch his expression went from pleasant to terrified in half a second.

“Do I look alright to you?” His response was supposed to sound snarky but instead it came out sounding more like desperation. Jim was practically hunched over against the wall, breathing heavy and  closing his eyes frequently to stop the room from doing somersaults.

“You kind of just screamed. And you look like you just walked out of the morgue.” He stood up and walked over to Jim cautiously as if he was some sort of a _threat_ in his current state.

“Am I going through withdrawals?” He choked out. Saying the word withdrawals was the hardest thing Jim had tried to do that morning. He had probably said it wrong, anyway, but Bones got the message and nodded.

“The worst of the symptoms will last for the next day or two, then-”

“Just,” Jim pressed his face against the wall, mumbling against the cool surface, “please tell me

you have drugs.”

“I’ll get you some. Now go sleep in an actual bed.”

“Mmh.” He nodded hazily and stumbled to the spare bedroom which was now his bedroom,

grasping on to the wall like he was walking the face of a cliff. Bones sighed and snaked an arm around his midsection, helping him the rest of the way. If it was in his capacity, Jim would feel guilty once again about how much he didn’t deserve any of this.

After sleeping on a bathroom floor, the mattress felt like a giant marshmallow. Jim burrowed under the duvet, too tired to pay attention to whatever Bones was trying to say about his health.(If it was important he would probably lecture him about it multiple times, anyway.) The bed smelled like laundry detergent and the rain was quieter than usual but he still couldn’t sleep. Instead he stared at the ceiling, running his fingertips over the soft white sheets and feeling his mind start to clear a little. His thoughts came in fragments, like pieces of a ship washing onto shore one by one.

_Jim. My name is Jim._

__

_I’m in Seattle._

__

_I hate Seattle._

__

Jim lasted about two hours before he had to stumble back into the bathroom and throw up more stomach acid. He wondered if it was possible to run out of stomach acid, but he was afraid of what would come up instead if that were to happen.

_Everyone hates me now_

__

_Because of...something_

__

_What did I do again?_

__

_Oh yeah, the alcohol thing_

__

_That’s probably why I feel like I’m dying_

__

_I should call Bones_

__

_He said something about drugs?_

Jim found his comm after a couple minutes of stumbling around the living area. Bones didn’t pick up, which he had half-expected. He made his way back into bed, and was surprised to see that there were unopened messages, considering he didn’t have any friends.

 

>Jimmy where did you go? this is so not ok.

It was from Gaila. Jim suddenly felt bad for forgetting about her.

>if you want to run away and pretend Starfleet doesn’t exist, fine. I don’t care.

>I actually care a lot. call me.

He hadn’t thought about calling Gaila, but considering she was probably the only person left in San Francisco who didn’t hate him, it seemed like a good idea. Jim flipped his pillow over to the cool side while he waited for her to pick up. He had no idea what he would say when she did.

“Jim!” She practically yelled and Jim had to hold the speaker farther from his head, “Are you ok?”

“Yes. Well, no. Depends on which type of ok you want me to be.”

“How about the type of ok where you’re sober and not in the streets of a random city?”

“Yes I’m that type of ok.”

“What type of not ok are you then? You saw the article, didn’t you?” She sounded upset about the article, which was good. Jim was upset about it too. “I told them not to publish it, because it’s pretty private information, and they wouldn’t have published something like that about anyone else. Apparently your dead father makes it ok for them to share your whole life with everyone.”

Jim didn’t really know how to respond to that. It seemed like a bad time to mention how sick he was.

“I’m sorry, Jim, that was kind of blunt. It’s just that people don’t leave you alone because of your dad and everything. Maybe it’s good you’ve fallen off the map for now. You don’t have to tell me where you are if you don’t want to.”

“I’m in Seattle with Leonard McCoy.”

“Isn’t that the guy you were roommates with before you joined Starfleet? Are you two..?” Her voice went up suggestively at the end.

“No. Oh god, no.” Gaila laughed and it dulled the pain of Jim’s headache for a minute. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, but there’s evidence that suggests he has a girlfriend.”

“Bummer. Casual sex always makes you feel better in times like this.”

“Ha ha.” Jim flipped the pillow over again. “I don’t think anyone wants to have sex with me right now anyway.”

“Freak accident or really bad withdrawals?”

“Second one.”

“Yikes. You do sound pretty sick. I thought that was just bad reception.”

“Yeah.”

They stayed on the call in silence for a little while. He wasn’t sure if it was because they had run out of things to say to each other or if simply knowing she was on the other side of the call brought him comfort. He listened to the rain against the window and decided that he still hated rain, because so far it only ever corresponded with him feeling like shit.

“Look, I gotta go. We have a test to study for and everything. You should be glad you’re not here to take it.” She laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I hope you feel better. I miss you, ok?”

“Ok.” Jim smiled even though she couldn’t see his face. “Call me later and I’ll tell you how bad Seattle is.”

“Deal.”

Gaila hung up and Jim pulled the duvet up over half his face. He looked out the window, waiting for Bones to come back and watching the time pass in raindrops. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he heard the door open.

“Took me a while to find these.” Bones handed him a small container with a few pills in it. “You know, because you’re allergic to literally every common medicine ingredient.” He sat at the foot of the bed while Jim struggled to dry swallow them.

“Thanks, Bonesy.” He still felt like his body was full of lead and thunderclouds, but hopefully it would go away in a couple minutes. Bones’s brow furrowed at being called “Bonesy” but he let it slide this time.

“I would ask how you’re feeling but I’d probably get the same answer.”

“Yeah. Not so good. I applied for a job last night. Sort of.” Jim sat up against the headboard and rubbed his eyes like he had just woken up. “At that coffee shop you sent me to.”

“I didn’t know you cared that much about whether or not I like your coffee.”

“It wasn’t just for you. The place smells nice and the people working there are drop dead gorgeous and it’s also really close.”

Bones raised his eyebrows at Jim in question.

“Ok it was a little bit for you. But mostly for me.”

“Of course you of all people would apply to a job to be surrounded by beautiful women.” He crossed his arms but still smiled, because Jim hadn’t really changed at all in the years they were apart. Jim smiled back weakly.

“Only one of them is a woman.”

“God dammit Jim, I knew it. _I knew it._ ”

They sat in silence for a minute, Bones thinking back to when they lived together. Jim was a pretty shitty roommate, but he was surprisingly reasonable about bringing people home. That was probably why he couldn’t remember anything that would have indicated a specific sexual preference. He looked back at Jim, and it was like looking in a mirror at himself after the divorce. Hit with a sudden wave of anger and confusion, Bones tried to change the subject of his thoughts.

“So do you have the job or what?”

“I’m not sure, but I feel like they hate me. Their cafe carries that newspaper with the article about me in it.” Jim closed his eyes, because sitting upright had started to really contribute to the throbbing pain in his skull.

“That’s unfortunate. You should go back and at least get a straight answer. Not today though, and probably not tomorrow unless you feel up to it. Alcohol withdrawal is a bitch.” Bones stood up and started to walk out.

“Where are you going?” Jim had said it before he could think about how high maintenance he probably sounded, but his bed felt empty without Bones there to make fun of his life choices.

“Out.”

“You have a date, don’t you.” Jim didn’t open his eyes but he knew which glare Bones was giving him in response to the suggestive smirk on his face.

“Shut up.”

 

Bones did have a date, but it wasn’t anything fancy. Christine always insisted they had dinner together on days when their schedules didn’t coincide and they couldn’t have lunch together at the hospital. Either way, at least one of them would be in uniform and both of them would be tired. Bones was trying to come up with an excuse for them to go out to a fancy ass dinner without making it seem like he wanted that. He also thought about being spontaneous and buying her flowers for no reason, but he ended up going without. Jim had fallen asleep when he checked his room before leaving for the hospital.

“How was work?” He asked in a stereotypical voice when Christine climbed into the car, looking as tired as usual. Her answer was predicted to be either “boring” or “tedious”.

“Tedious.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in greeting. They drove to the restaurant without conversation, Christine idly flipping through radio stations and never settling on anything for longer than two songs. He found her presence relaxing after nearly four days of long surgeries and Jim’s issues. She smelled like hospital soap and the generic floral perfume he had bought her last Valentine’s day.

It was late and they managed to score a booth in the far back corner. They both ordered the new semi-American and supposedly Orion-inspired entrees that the waiter was being paid extra to rave about. Bones lazily tapped his fingers against the tabletop and studied the other people in the restaurant. It was supposed to be a modern joint that served great food at reasonable prices, but the food had proved to be only slightly above average and nobody under 30 ever ate there. The prices were still reasonable, though, and it was never crowded when they came, so it became a regular destination on nights like this.

Christine talked about the hospital and how children’s toys need better warning labels because _“I swear to god if one more seven year old gets electrocuted because of this light up spaceship toy I’m not going to add any pleasantries to the letter I’m writing to the manufacturer”_. They talked about new developments in biomedical science and both of them were equally excited about the newest prosthetic hand because it was one step closer to a fully replicated and fully functional human hand. Then the food came and they were quiet for a while. Bones was unimpressed with both of the dishes because they didn’t taste any more exotic than fully-American foods. Christine was just glad to eat a full meal after an eight hour shift.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked, setting her fork down next to an empty plate. He hadn’t said much all evening and normally he would have gone more in depth about prosthetics.

“Just wondering how you get your hair to stay all fancy looking after working all day.” Bones smiled lazily and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s a secret.” She smirked reached out to hold his hand from across the table. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Maybe I’m only thinking about one thing at a time.”

“You’re always thinking about multiple things at once.” Christine was right. She was always right about him. He sighed.

“Remember Jim Kirk?”

“The guy you used to live with? There was an article about him.”

“Yeah. He was kicked out of Starfleet.” Bones cleared his throat awkwardly, “He’s kind of living in my spare room now.”

“You’re a nicer guy than you let on, Len. How about we go back to my apartment instead? I can think of something that’ll get your mind off of Jim.”

“What would that be?” Bones raised an eyebrow, and the conversation halted while the waiter brought the check. They pretended to be impressed with the food but the poor kid wasn’t buying it.

“I was thinking we’d watch old western films on mute like we used to.” Christine grinned, her tired eyes lighting up again. “You can do the voices and I’ll make the cheesy sound effect noises until we fall asleep.”

Both of them laughed, but they actually did drive to Christine’s apartment and watch old westerns instead of doing normal couple things. Her apartment was small and it smelled like nutmeg and candles. The two of them sat on her second hand loveseat under a knitted blanket that always left tiny pieces of yarn on their clothes. Halfway through Rio Bravo Christine turned to look at Bones.

“Do you think we’re a boring couple?”

He brushed her hair out of his face.

“Yeah, but I love it.”

Bones rested his head over hers and she smiled against the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“Me too.”

They stayed on the couch watching the movie in silence, his hand rubbing circles up and down her spine until both of them fell asleep. For once, Leonard McCoy wasn’t worrying about his job or his friends or even himself. He was able to fall asleep only thinking about Christine, and how her hair was still perfect and the way the light from the television made her face look and how cute it was when she mumbled incoherently in her sleep.

***

When Bones came home the next morning, the sight of Jim looking shaky and feverish on the steps to his apartment-wearing his clothes again-didn’t even faze him. He asked if Jim was feeling alright and received a half-hearted thumbs up before going inside to get dressed for work. On his way out he gave him a pat on the back and left him there in the dull light of mid-morning.

He’ll be _fine_ , Bones told himself.

Jim had been sitting outside for about an hour by then, because he woke up in a panic and could hardly breathe enough to throw some clothes on and stumble out the door into the bitter fall morning. It was surprisingly relaxing, even though the streets were crowded and rain was still present in the form of mist. Jim couldn’t figure out if he was shaking from the cold or if it was another side effect. Either way he came to the realization that buying clothes would be a good idea, because the one outfit he had with him was intended for San Francisco weather and he didn’t particularly care for Bones’s wardrobe. All of his clothes were a size too big and they smelled like aftershave and espresso and hospital soap.

Jim’s ill-fitting clothes and laughably messy hair may have contributed to Uhura’s pitying look as she walked towards him, shiny high heels clicking against the leaf-covered sidewalk. She handed him a cup of coffee, but he could still feel dislike emanating from her as she towered over him. She didn’t sit down, but stood with her lips pressed together in a tight line, facing the wind, while Jim held the warmth under his nose. Finally she looked at him, tucked loose strands of damp hair behind her ear, and sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Uhura sounded about 38% genuine.

“For what?” Jims brain still felt clogged and syrupy, trying to free itself from the headache he’d had for the last 72 hours. It took him a few seconds to remember where he actually knew her from. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket frustratedly, like a child whose mother was forcing them to apologize.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk to you two nights ago. It was unwarranted.”

Jim nodded and took a sip of his coffee. It was scalding on his tongue and the roof of his mouth but he forced himself to swallow it down. He figured the coffee was a sort of peace offering.

“It’s alright. I was kind of a jerk too.” He half-smiled at her.

“I still don’t like you.”

“I figured as much.”

“Let me finish talking.” She took a step forward, although she didn’t need to assert any more dominance since she already had the advantage of standing. “I’m only doing this because it’ll give me less hours. It wasn’t even my idea.” Uhura squinted at him while he slowly realised what she had just said. “If you come into my cafe with so much as an ounce of alcohol in your body I’ll kick your ass into the next solar system. And you can’t come to work until you stop looking like shit.”

“Noted.” Jim took another painful sip of coffee and started to think she’d made it too hot on purpose. It didn’t matter. He had a job now.

Uhura strutted back to the coffee shop, pieces of hair blowing wildly around her head. Jim shamelessly checked out her ass and went back to thinking about buying new clothes.

**  
  
**

 

 


	3. right on the fucking mouth

Jim had become comfortable with the haziness he felt from drinking. Everything was a blur of faces and words and algorithms and that was how he liked it. Now things were coming back into focus, and the clarity of it all was painful to say the least. Before, he felt like he was floating around on the surface of reality, but now it was more like being shoved against a wall, or thrown into the ocean. Jim didn’t really know how to explain it, but he found himself thinking mostly in metaphors and similes.

Fucking Leonard McCoy and his contagious speech patterns.

Jim took two weeks to learn how everything worked. It would have been two days if he hadn’t broken the coffee machine on his first try. It was a total accident, of course, but Uhura kicked him out anyway. He ended up sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, exiled there until someone came from the company to fix it. Jim took this opportunity to think about how in the world his life had managed to fall apart like this.

First of all, he was hardly sleeping. It had been almost a week since his adventure with alcohol withdrawals, which he would end up referring to as his second encounter with death, but he still didn’t qualify as _healthy_. He didn’t remember Bones mentioning that the insomnia and anxiety would continue to be a side effect. To be fair, though, he didn’t remember much of anything.

The world started to spin a little and he let it, for a while, until he was hit with a wave of nausea and had to put his head between his knees. Sure, Jim had been in worse shape than this before, travelling along a circuit of beer bottles and half-empty beds and gas station bathrooms, but he had never felt this pathetic in his life.

If only Pike could see him now, sitting alone on the side of the road trying to hold on to whatever was left of his sanity.

The door opened and Jim could feel someone standing next to him. He didn’t want to look up, but he figured it was probably Spock, because the street became twice as silent and the air became twice as uncomfortable.

“You come to yell at me too?” He asked, not even trying to hide how tired he was.

“On the contrary.” Spock sat down on the curb with him, his posture maintaining it’s rigidity. He looked more than slightly uncomfortable, his long legs bent sharply in front of his chest, but then again he always looked uncomfortable. “I do not wish to fall victim to Nyota’s hostility.”

Jim laughed weakly through his teeth and Spock’s expression remained blank.

“What does she have against me anyway?”

“It is not my place to make assumptions about the motivation of her current behavior based on my knowledge of her past, but I believe it may be caused by childhood experience.”

It took a moment for Jim to actually comprehend what Spock said.

“Oh shit.” He raised his head from between his knees. “Really?”

“From what she has told me, her parents were not...lawful in their consumption of alcohol.” Spock’s words slowed down after he looked at Jim. “You look ill.” He said.

“Thanks.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“I know.” Jim managed to smile even though he really didn’t fucking feel like smiling. “Doctor says I’m probably gonna be _ill_ for the next couple weeks.”

“You have seen a doctor?”

“Something like that.”

Jim didn’t feel like talking any more than he already had, and Spock must have understood, because they sat in silence for at least an hour. They went back inside when it started to rain again, just as the repairman was finishing up. Uhura was looking over his shoulder while he filled out the paperwork for the company. Jim and Spock stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of whether or not they were allowed to enter. Finally the man smiled and nodded in farewell to Uhura and turned towards the door.

“You really got ‘er good, sir.” He said to Jim with a heavy Scottish accent and an amicable level of sass, “I ain’t never seen one broken like that before. Learn somethin’ new every day I s’pose!”

Jim nodded and smiled another one of his _okay, haha, now go away_ smiles, unsure if he felt flattered or offended that he had found a new way to fuck up a coffee machine.

After that, it would have only taken one week to learn how everything worked if Uhura hadn’t broken the machine again and blamed it on him. And Jim knew it was her, because of the smug expression she had on that morning, and also because when that same repairman came back she was wearing more makeup and darker lipstick than before.

Although this time it was November and the rain had no mercy. Spock and Jim decided to sit in the far corner of the cafe instead, and they tried not to look at Uhura, because when they did her flirtatious expression would turn into a death glare. When Jim eventually got bored with watching innocent people get devoured by the rain on the sidewalk he turned to Spock on the off-chance he would be willing to talk to him outside of work.

Spock’s half of the table was full of small stacks of colorful, square paper, some of them folded into animals. Jim couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward when he realized what was happening.

Spock was fucking doing origami. Jim tried not to laugh and instead settled on covering his mouth with one hand and grinning like an idiot.

“Do you find my pastimes amusing?” Spock looked almost offended. Almost, considering his face hardly changed at all except for his eyebrows drawing slightly inward.

“No, no I just-” Jim took a second to breathe. He hadn’t actually laughed since he found out Bones used a bright pink umbrella. Thinking about it almost made him break out into laughter again. “You’re different. In a good way. Interesting, I guess.” He shrugged to try and take the sincerity out of his words. Spock was interesting. Jim wasn’t sure if it was because he was significantly easier to talk to than Uhura or if they had actual potential for friendship.

“You could say the same of anyone.” Spock delicately shaped the head of a yellow paper crane. He was good at it, to say the least. It made sense, because origami required steady hands and attention to detail, which Vulcans seemed more than capable of, except Vulcans didn’t really have hobbies like that.

“Well, yeah. Except you’re a Vulcan who wears Terran clothing and works at a coffee shop and does origami for leisure. I can assure you that’s not something you see everyday.” Jim felt like he was being offensive. He hadn’t really held a conversation in a while, aside from the morning and evening sass he exchanged with Bones, and Gaila’s occasional phone calls. Maybe he had forgotten how to talk to people when he wasn’t drunk. Thankfully, Spock didn’t look offended. He simply nodded and kept moving his fingers with the paper as if from memory. Jim still felt an overbearing urge to fill the silence.

“There’s really only one species of crane in America. _Grus americana_. I think I’ve seen maybe one of them before, but they don’t look anything like that.” He was word vomiting again, and he had no idea where he picked up this extensive knowledge about cranes but here it was. “I don’t get why they call them paper cranes, because they look nothing like actual cranes. Even in Japan, where the paper crane trend started, they hardly resemble the native _Grus japonensis_. The tail and the wings all rest downward instead of upward.” Jim needed to see whether or not he was scaring away his coworker slash potential friend before he let himself say anything else. When he came back to earth, Spock was holding the crane in the space between them and studying it.

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound annoyed. Jim let his shoulders drop a little in relief. “It is meant to resemble the appearance of the _Grus japonensis_ during flight, when the legs are tucked behind in a tail-like fashion and the wings are splayed upward.” Spock placed the crane on the table in front of him.

“Huh. I never thought about that.” Jim tried, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, because for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel unwanted in a conversation. Nevermind they were talking about paper cranes like a couple of giant dorks, and Spock probably didn’t mean anything by giving it to him, he still took it as a sign of friendship and let himself be happy about it for the rest of the day.

The rest of their conversation was mostly about plant and animal species and, Jim noted, not about alcohol or Starfleet or his father or anything else people like to mention around him. Spock was simultaneously folding paper while they talked and eventually they had a miniature zoo on the surface of the table. People were probably staring. Jim didn’t give a damn.

Eventually Uhura came back after the coffee machine was fixed again. She had closed the shop early and pulled a chair up to the table, taking ownership of the origami carambolas.

“We need to talk about shifts, because I don’t want to have to see your face every time I come in here.”

Jim thought about making a clever remark about how she needed him so she could break something and call the repairman again, but he figured he better feign ignorance and wait to pull that one out until later.

If he remembered anything from the last time they were around that table in the empty cafe, it was going to be a long night.

***

Everything had finally started to fall into a rhythm. Jim was sleeping longer and deeper every night, Uhura tolerated him a little more each time they had a shift together, and before he knew it December had rolled around. He was thankful for the rain to be exchanged for the occasional snowfall.

It was a particularly white morning, and Uhura was down the street picking up ridiculously large packages of spices, when someone burst through the door of the cafe. As per usual, the Russian kid(who Jim has since learned is named Pavel Chekov, goes by Chekov, and is studying natural science, and practically has the table closest to the door reserved for him) gets hit by a gust of cold, wet wind and curses from behind his botany textbook. Whoever it was who rushed inside didn’t have time to apologize and swiftly jumped behind the counter, almost hitting Jim head on with the cans of spray paint that were flying out of his backpack. Jim looked at him in utter confusion until he heard police sirens slowly getting louder. From where he was crouching behind the counter, he suddenly groaned in terror at a can of spray paint that was on the floor near the entrance.

A dead giveaway.

Chekov took one look at him apparently understood what was happening. He quickly shoved the can into his messenger bag before going back to studying. Jim held his breath as the police made their way inside. They took one quick look around, and then ordered two large americanos “as soon as possible”, because the free-coffee-for-law-enforcement thing had been around longer than anyone could remember. After Jim watched them disappear from sight, looking more than a little pissed off, he cleared his throat loudly and looked at the man still sitting on the floor. He was covered in a good amount of both snow and paint, but otherwise looked pretty young and decently clean, aside from the fact he was clearly a criminal.

“This better be some damn good vandalism.” Jim said, and almost laughed because, _god, he sounded like Bones._

“You can bet your ass it is. I do the best graffiti in Seattle.” He smiled and stood up, extending a paint-covered hand.

“Is that why the police are after you?” Jim shook his paint-covered hand with a coffee-scented one. They both laughed.

“Hikaru Sulu.”

“Jim Kirk. I’m probably gonna call you by your last name, just a head’s up. It’s a thing I do.”

“I might come here more often if it means I can shake the cops off my back.”

“Yeah, but if my co worker comes back and sees you behind the counter, she’ll kill both of us.”

“Your co worker sounds hot.” Sulu smirked but jumped back over the counter. No one fucks with Uhura. He sat down in the empty seat across from Chekov. It was funny, because Jim had never seen anyone sit there before. Sulu had to tap on the page he was reading to get his attention. Chekov looked up at him in surprise, his curly hair bouncing up and down for a few seconds.

“I think you have something of mine.” He laughed as the kid nervously dug through his bag and shoved the can of paint into his hands. Except Sulu wasn’t done yet. “You studying for finals?”

Chekov obviously didn’t want to talk, and Jim was pretty sure it was because of the accent and not because he wanted to study. He nodded awkwardly. Sulu let out a small sigh and picked up the textbook. Suddenly his eyes lit up.

“Botany? You’re kidding.” He proceeded to flip through the book like an excited little kid.

“Vat is it?” Chekov suddenly turned bright red as Sulu looked at him and grinned with amusement. Jim was right, it was the accent that was holding him back. Poor kid probably got bullied for it.

“Today is your lucky day, because I happen to have a master’s in botany. Would have been a doctorate if I wasn’t expelled. You can probably guess what happened.” The corners of Chekov’s mouth twitched up slightly before a grateful smile broke across his face. Jim watched as the two of them scooted their chairs closer together and started a conversation about plants that would last until the cafe’s closing.

When Uhura came back he helped her carry in the ridiculously large bags of spices. She took one look at the table near the door before whispering “I give it two weeks before they’re fucking each other.” And Jim tried really hard not to laugh loud enough for them to hear.

Sulu came back almost everyday after that, and it’s safe to say he became one of Jim’s best friends. He also spent a lot of time with Chekov, mostly tutoring him but occasionally just talking about nothing in particular. On the days Sulu wasn’t there, Jim saw the empty seat and realized how alone, and sad, Chekov had been. In all the time he had been working there the kid was always sitting alone, even though he looked happier when he was interacting with people. If Jim was a sentimental person, he would tell Sulu about it, but he wasn’t, so he figured he’d let everyone figure stuff out on their own.

That was at least one of the good parts of sobriety: James T. Kirk was no longer an asshole about other people’s feelings. He became hyper aware of everyone around him. It was tiring, but he figured it was also making him a better person, and he needed something to think about other than how much he wished he could drink.

So Jim slowly became a decent person again, and Bones even said he was more tolerable to live with than before. he felt pretty confident in not being a piece of shit, until and unfortunately cold evening on the 19th of December when he managed to fuck everything up again.

It was on a day when only he and Spock were working. They worked well together, and they were at the point where they could talk to each other throughout the day about anything in particular. Jim had learned to pick up on Spock’s facial expressions, and the edge of attitude he put into some of his words, and he no longer felt like he was talking to a robot. It was also safe to say him and Spock were friends.

And Jim was perfectly fine with them being friends. Happy, even, because that was all they were. They were just friends.

That was what Jim would recite in his mind on the slow days when he found himself accidentally staring at Spock from behind the latte machine. Staring in a totally, completely, utterly platonic manner, of course.

Fuck it, Jim was at least slightly smitten. In the way you would be smitten with a flight attendant on a twelve hour airplane ride or a charismatic early morning newscaster when you have a hangover. It’s not something you act on. It’s something you try to ignore until you stop feeling jittery inside whenever you see them.

Maybe it was because Spock was such a calm, solid presence in his life when everything felt like it was falling apart.

Maybe it was because Spock was the only person capable of holding conversation with Jim on days when he was sleep deprived and skipped around from subject to subject.

Maybe they just had chemistry. Jim mentally kicked himself. _Yeah right. Chemistry with a Vulcan. Nice try, Jimmy_.

Regardless, they did work well together. They never really fought with each other, unlike when he worked with Uhura, and Spock never got frustrated when he asked how to do something for the billionth time.

When the sun started to set and the post-dinner-cramming-for-exams rush was over, Jim was leaning against the counter and watching the snow and Spock was making origami poinsettias, most likely at Uhura’s request.

“Nyota has given us the task of hanging lights in the window in accordance with Terran holiday traditions.”

Jim scoffed. And Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Today he was wearing a thick blue sweater which complimented his figure as well as his dark eyes. _Fucking friends, Jim_. He cursed himself again. This needed to stop. He needed to find someone to fool around with who wasn’t unbelievably out of his league. Because really, why would anyone even half as great as Spock go for someone like him.

“So she wants us to deck the halls?” He knew Spock wouldn’t get it, but that was half the joke. He laughed anyway.

“I do not-”

“Nevermind, Spock.” He stood up straight and looked around at the nearly empty cafe. “We should probably get going on that before it gets dark.”

“That would be a logical course of action.”

The lights were neatly packed in a box at the very back of the storage room. Jim cleaned tables while Spock emptied the box and sorted the strands. They were pretty old-fashioned, but it went with the mood of the establishment, after all. He liked seeing the street get more and more festive as Christmas was approaching. When he was younger it used so make him feel like he was in space, surrounded by shining stars and planets. James Tiberius Kirk: Starfleet captain and explorer of strange new worlds.

Jim didn’t think about space very much anymore. These days Christmas lights just made him feel pleasantly nostalgic.

Hanging the lights was surprisingly easy. Spock knew exactly how they were supposed to be arranged and there were already hooks in the ceiling and walls. It was just like in the old movies he would watch around the holidays, where all of the stores and restaurants put lights inside the windows and the whole street lit up.

Afterwards they stood out on the street and admired the window. The wind was blowing and they ended up standing dangerously close to each other. _This is what friends do when they’re cold. This is friendship._ Jim thought angrily. He did not think about how Spock’s cheeks and ears and the tip of his nose were bright green from the cold, or how he looked like a little kid bundled up for the wintertime, adorably miserable in the cold. Jim did not think about that at all. He had to break the silence somehow, to stop himself from not thinking.

“Christmas lights used to make me think of stars.” _Anything but that, Jim. Anything but references to your childhood._

“You speak in past tense as though they have adopted a new meaning.”

Jim smiled weakly and turned to face Spock. His cheeks felt numb but Spock was visibly less resistant to the weather. It was almost amusing.

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know what they make me think of now, though.” Jim looked at Spock and how the lights were shining off of his eyes and how their breath was dancing together in the night air and fuck.

_No._

_Stop._

_Stop that right now._

Jim had become so good at self control. Ever since he had stopped letting alcohol rule his life he was able to trust his own thoughts.

Apparently it was all bullshit, though,because he fucking leaned his head forward and kissed Spock. Right on the fucking mouth. And it was fucking awesome for all of two seconds.

It was a Christmas miracle. Spock’s lips were warm and soft against his own and it felt really sweet and intimate even though neither one opened their mouth to the kiss. Except once Jim realized what he was doing, he instantly jerked his head away.

“Oh my god.” Was his instinctive response. His fingers were still loosely holding on to the lapels of Spock’s coat, as if he wasn’t sure if we was allowed to touch him. _Which, by the way, you are not._ Jim thought, and shoved his hands into his pockets. (He was still wearing his shitty leather jacket even though he had money for a new one now.)

Spock’s face was slightly more flushed, which Jim insisted was from the cold, and he stood there, eyes wider than he had ever seen before.

“I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry.” Jim stammered and decided the best thing to do was get the hell away from there. He ran down the street to the apartment, not looking back at the violently confused Vulcan popsicle he had just abandoned on the sidewalk.

And that’s how, two hours later, a tired Leonard McCoy finds an equally tired Jim Kirk sitting on his kitchen floor looking like he was about to go insane.

“Jim, it’s midnight.What in the good goddamn are you doing?” He stood at the entrance to the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest.

“I fucked up Bones.” Jim scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I fucked up and I really really really really really want alcohol. I need it. I’m going to die of suppressed emotion if I do not consume alcohol within the next hour.” He was trying to be comedic to hide the fact he could burst into tears at any moment. God, he was so tired.

“You’re a drama queen.” Thankfully, Bones didn’t try to ask what Jim had done. He knew him too well to try something like that. He walked over to his liquor cabinet, shielding it from Jim’s view. But then Jim looked up at him with such genuine desperation he knew he had to do _something_.

Bones reached into the cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey. He turned it over in his hands, sighed, and placed it on the floor in front of Jim.

“You...actually want me to drink this?” He looked at him with utter disbelief. Bones smirked and shook his head no.

“No. I want you to break it against the counter.” He checked to make sure the kitchen was clean enough before adding, “Right now.”

And that’s how, half an hour later, a tired Christine Chapel finds Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk surrounded by various alcoholic beverages and a dangerous amount of broken glass. She would have been mad if they didn’t look so damn pleased with themselves. Instead, she took the bottle of white wine she had brought and broke it against the counter with as much strength as she could manage. All three of them cheered.

Eventually, though, they had to pay attention to the shards of broken glass all over the floor and the cuts all over their skin. But it was worth it. It was so worth it.

Later that night, on her way to the bathroom she noticed that Jim was still awake, looking both satisfied and pathetic, but mostly pathetic. She replicated a bowl of rocky road ice cream and entered his room without knocking. The door was wide open, anyway.  

“Here.” She put the bowl in his lap and sat down at the foot of the bed, where Bones usually sat. Maybe it was a doctor thing. “Len said you were having boy troubles.”

“Well if it isn’t Christine Chapel.” He said sleepily, the words rolling around in his mouth like they didn’t belong there. He hadn’t recognized her earlier, when he was covered in blood and glass and full of a dumb feeling of victory. “Is that what Bones told you?”

“He said you were menstruating. I made an educated guess.” She smiled and stood up. “Whoever it is, they probably like you too.”

“What makes you think that?” Jim asked with a mouthful of ice cream.

“Who wouldn’t?” She winked at him and walked out.

Jim was flattered by her advice, but she was in a happy boring relationship with Bones and he was in love with a Vulcan who, he knew for a fact, would not like him back. He ate the ice cream anyway, feeling like a protagonist in a shitty teen drama. Except teen dramas always end with the protagonist getting together with their love interest, and Jim was 99% sure that wasn’t going to happen.

**  
  
  
  
**


	4. personalized vandalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like at this point, not having "crack" as one of the tags would be considered false advertisement.  
> Also ao3 doesn't let me edit formatting like it used to so things are gonna look a bit different now.

“Hey”  


“mmh.” Jim rolled over, away from the voice intruding his sugar-induced coma.  


“Jim wake up.”  


“Jim’s not here. Leave a message.” He wasn’t even sure who it was, he just knew it was his day off and there was no way he was getting out of bed until lunchtime.  


“Wake up asshole I need you.”  


Jim finally gave up on falling back asleep and opened his eyes. His room was still dark, which meant it was either really early, or he had slept all day. He turned over and found Sulu standing over his bed.  


“Wait a minute.” Jim sat up slowly, his muscles all weird and heavy from sleep. “How did you get in here?” He kicked the duvet away from his body, not even bothering to wait for an answer, and swung his feet onto the floor.  


“That’s irrelevant. I need your help with something. Get dressed.”  


Jim complied, but he made sure to glare at Sulu for the next couple minutes, because it turned out to be fucking four thirty in the morning and nothing about that fact was tolerable.  


It wasn’t until they were both in the empty street, Sulu leading him somewhere downtown, that Jim realized he had never actually told him where he lived. He kicked the snow as he walked and started to really consider his choice in friends.  


Sulu stopped walking once they reached a shitty apartment building on the far side of the city, a couple streets away from the university. Jim had a hunch. He asked anyway.  


“So are you going to tell me why you broke into my apartment at fuck o’clock and forced me to hike through the snow to a crappy college apartment complex?”  


“I already told you. I need your help with something.” He unzipped his backpack and pulled out two cans of spray paint. “You’re gonna stand watch for me.”  


“Oh for fucks sake couldn’t you get your boyfriend to do it?” Jim was angry, but not the fighting kind of angry, more like the forced-to-go-outside-in-the-cold-when-i-could-be-in-bed angry. Sulu looked at him with a frighteningly serious expression while he shook the spray paint to life.  


“He’s not my boyfriend.” He turned to face the empty wall behind them and analyzed the surface. “Not yet. That’s why we’re here, genius.”  


“Oh my god. You’re trying to woo him with vandalism.”  


Sulu threw the paint caps at him.  


“It’s _personalized vandalism_. This is on the route he walks to class and today is his last exam.”  


“That’s disgustingly romantic.” Jim sniffed self-righteously, “but I guess since I’m already out here I’ll watch the street for you. Asshole.” He walked to the edge of the sidewalk. The street hadn’t even been cleared of snow yet, it was so early.  


“Thanks, babe.” Sulu retorted and got to work.  


Jim didn’t want to admit it, but he kind of enjoyed watching the sun rise and the city wake up. It had been snowing lightly since the night before, and he liked being able to see the sidewalks covered in white before the people and the cars turned everything gray and half-melted. It reminded him of Iowa winters, in the outskirts of Riverside where the snow would pile up past his knees, pure and white and stretching all the way to the horizon.  


After about an hour he realized that what he felt was relaxed. Jim laughed softly, small puffs of white swirling around in the air, because he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt relaxed.  


“What’s so funny?” Sulu was standing next to him now, his backpack slung around his shoulders again. His jacket was covered in paint, red and blue and gold in delicate patterns, almost as if it were intentional.  


“I think I’m happy.” Jim cringed internally at how dumb that probably sounded, laced with reference to the past couple months that he had barely told Sulu about. They were both silent for a moment, watching the first wave of commuters drive through the fog.  


“Good for you, buddy.” Sulu elbowed him in the side, and for some reason it didn’t feel awkward. Jim decided to change the subject anyway, because it was too early to feel anything but tired and stupidly content. He turned around to look at the finished wall.  


“Are...are those formulas?”  


“I feel slightly concerned that you’ve made it two years in Starfleet and you can’t recognize quantum mechanics.” Sulu stood with his hands on his hips, beaming with pride at the drying paint on the wall. “But yeah, it’s formulas. I don’t even know why he’s taking the class since he’s doing natural science.” He laughed and shook his head, looking more infatuated than anything else. “Nerd.”  


Jim didn’t really know what to say, other than _fuck you for being happy and in love with someone who obviously feels the same way_. He decided it would be better to say nothing. 

Chekov showed up about twenty minutes later, walking like his shoes were made of lead. Jim knew that walk too well from all his years of schooling. Even the curls in the hair sticking out from his hat looked a little less lively.  


At first he didn’t even notice Jim and Sulu standing there. He saw the wall, full of formulas that he coincidentally needed that very morning. Chekov laughed a little and stood up straighter. Sulu gave up on the surprise and cleared his throat from behind him.  


“Sorry, I-Hikaru!” Chekov’s expression went from nervous to delighted as he connected the paint on Sulu’s jacket to the graffiti on the wall. _The graffiti for him_. They were both laughing and Chekov threw his arms around him in a sort of thank-you that went from friendly to amourous pretty quickly.  
Chekov sensed the mood change and pulled away, his already flushed face turning more red.  


“I..thank you.” He said, putting extra effort into keeping the “th” from sounding like a “z”. Sulu sighed and smiled back at him, frustration evident in the twitching corners of his mouth.  


“Don’t mention it. It’s not like I had anything else to do at five in the morning.” Sulu said dryly. He was hardly being subtle, but Chekov still didn’t catch on. Jim would have felt bad for him if he wasn’t too busy feeling bad for himself. The three of them stood on the sidewalk looking at each other awkwardly.  


Finally Chekov made one last look at the wall and clapped his hands together.  


“Time to go ace my exam.” There was an undertone of dread in his voice that contrasted with the smile he was giving Sulu as he walked away.  


“You can do it!” Jim yelled when Chekov had reached the end of the street. He turned around and shot a fist in the air.  


“I CAN DO IT!”  


“KICK THAT EXAM RIGHT IN THE BALLS!” Sulu shouted, with a hilarious sort of determination written all over his face.  


“I WILL KICK THE EXAM RIGHT IN THE BALLS!” Chekov tried to mimic his serious expression but couldn’t help bursting into laughter. He swiftly turned around and hurried to school. It was cute, but the cuteness faded away when Chekov was out of sight and Sulu started banging his head against the wall. Obviously this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.  


They had switched places on the walk back, Sulu lagging behind instead of Jim and kicking the snow up from under his feet. Morning rush hour was in full swing when they turned onto his street. Jim told himself not to look into the cafe window. Uhura and Spock were working and he knew he was in trouble, but he could at least wait to be in trouble until he actually had work.  


_Spock is in there._  


Don’t look.  
Don’t do it.

_Fuck I looked._

Spock was standing at the register, the poster child for good posture, as usual. Jim allowed himself a second just to watch him, talking to a customer, typing on the register, and writing a name on one of their red and gold holiday cups in his perfect handwriting. _God damn it_ , he thought, because there was no use trying to deny anything anymore.  


The customer left and Spock looked up from the register, and only a few seconds passed before he noticed Jim and made direct eye contact from the other side of the window. There was something in his eyes this time, an almost questioning look that his blank expression couldn’t hide.  


“What are you doing?” Sulu was standing next to him, witnessing the wordless exchange of confused glances. “Wait, are you? Oh my god.”  


“Shut up.” Jim grabbed his arm and started walking to his apartment. Sulu was laughing and trailing behind him, having forgotten his disappointment from earlier.  


Bones and Christine were in the kitchen when they came in. Jim shut the door angrily and Sulu fell into the couch, still laughing and rubbing his forehead where he had hit it against the wall.  


“I swear to god, Sulu, if you don’t shut up I’m giving your address to the police department.” That didn’t do anything to stop him from being made fun of, so Jim walked towards the noise in the kitchen hoping for a change in atmosphere. He stopped right in the doorway. Both of them were sitting on the kitchen floor, wearing a combination of each other’s clothes and drinking coffee out of stupidly festive mugs. Bones looked surprisingly not agitated, and instead wore a dopey smile while he dipped a gingerbread man into his coffee. Christine was the first to look up from her dissection of the box of Christmas cookies open on the floor between them. She had green icing smudged on the corner of her mouth and was wearing a faded t-shirt from Bones’ closet that was somehow flattering.  


“Oh no, Len, it looks like we’ve got more drama.” She said with about a teaspoon of actual worry. Bones looked at Jim through the bird’s nest that had become his hair and snorted in amusement.  


“Is Jim in a jam?” He asked with a shit-eating grin. Both of them started giggling and Bones didn’t notice the coffee that spilled out of his mug and onto his plaid pajama pants. It was so stupid, but they looked so happy it only made Jim feel worse.  


“Hilarious.” He leaned over to pick up one of the few cookies that didn’t contain ingredients he was allergic to. It was shortbread shaped like a Christmas tree and covered in green icing and star shaped sprinkles.  
Christine steadied her breathing and put on a visage of complete seriousness before speaking again.  


“Come on Len, be serious. Look at his face, something bad must have happened.” She took a sip of her coffee and raised an eyebrow at Jim. Bones eyed the icing on Christine’s face. Both he and Jim were simultaneously wondering how it hadn’t ended up on the coffee mug yet.  


“It’s probably the unnamed person who I assume he works with that he won’t talk to me about.” He half frowned at Jim in disappointment, as if it was a crime to keep a private life.  


“You work at the coffee shop down the street right?” Jim bit off half of the cookie and nodded. She let out a small gasp, almost in realization. “Wait, wait, it’s the Vulcan isn’t it? The pretty one who wears beanies to hide his ears?”  


Bones choked on his coffee and they both took Jim’s stubborn expression as a definite yes.  


“Well fuck me sideways,” Bones tried to breathe around his half-swallowed coffee, “you’re in love with a Vulcan. I always knew you were into challenges, Jim, but I think you might’ve bit off more than you can chew, here.” His amused tone ricocheted off of every surface in the kitchen.  


“So, what is it about this guy?” Christine spoke slowly, trying not to giggle between syllables. “What is it he does that gets your jimmies so rustled?” She exploded into laughter, Bones following a second later.  


“Was that a fucking pun, Christine?”  


This time he could hear Sulu laughing from the living room while the two assholes on the floor struggled for air. Jim shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth and walked back to his room.  


“I hate all of you.” He said before slamming the door and getting back in bed. 

***  


Jim got to work early the next morning and felt like doing something nice for someone else, so he broke the coffee machine again.  


Uhura showed up fifteen minutes later, wearing a knee-length red coat and looking as stunning as ever, this time with her long hair braided down her back. The minute she walked in she started talking about a Christmas party that apparently happens every year and _I don’t like you but I’m inviting you because now you can be in charge of getting people home and I can get drunk_ , and there was something else about champagne and chocolate before she got behind the counter and stopped in her tracks. She didn’t turn around, but Jim still felt like she was glaring at him from the back of her head.  


“We haven’t even opened yet, Jim, what the hell did you do?”  


“Merry Christmas.” He said, feeling more satisfied than terrified. “You should invite him to your party.”  


Uhura turned to look at him in disbelief before nodding and walking away to call the repairman.  


It was more of a thank you than Jim was expecting. He went ahead and continued the morning routine, turning all the machines on and heating up a days worth of croissants and danishes. Uhura returned to the counter and leaned over it on her elbows.  


“So,” she cleared her throat delicately, “what did you do to Spock?”

_well, shit_

“Nothing.” Jim snapped. It wasn’t nothing. It was a lot of things.  


“If it was nothing he wouldn’t have spent all of yesterday being creepily silent and terrifying all of the customers.” She turned her head and glared at him. “What did you do?”  


He groaned and put his head down on the countertop.  


“Something I shouldn’t have done.”  


“There are a lot of things you shouldn’t do to Spock.”  


“I might have kissed him. It was nothing. Well, it would have been nothing if it was anyone else. Okay it wasn’t nothing. It was really far from nothing.”  


Uhura considered patting him on the shoulder at an attempt to comfort him, but it would have been more awkward than comforting. She sighed.  


“I’m sure you’d like to hear me say you didn’t fuck up whatever relationship you two had, but you most likely fucked up whatever relationship you two had.”  


“I know.”  


Jim was grateful when the door opened and the conversation ended. 

***

If Chekov noticed the bruise on Sulu’s forehead, he didn’t say anything about it. He did, however, say a lot of other things while the two of them sat across from each other at the table nearest the door. He exhausted every topic he could think of, with Sulu half-heartedly reciprocating and generally looking more miserable than he was the day before. It got to the point where Jim and Uhura were both so tired of seeing the exchange that they considered kicking Chekov out and closing early so Sulu could eat eggnog flavored ice cream and watch John Hughes movies on Jim’s couch and cry.  


They instead settled on muttering complaints to each other and blatantly staring at the two of them until Chekov was visibly uncomfortable and looked to Sulu as if it was his fault they had asshole friends. The two behind the counter decided to pretend to be really busy and avoid being swept into the inevitable conversation about feelings.  


“Honestly, Pavel, I wish I _didn’t_ know what was going on.” was his answer to the unasked question. His tone was hilariously dry, which only contributed to the poor kid’s confused look. Jim hid his laughter with fake coughing. Uhura elbowed him in the side.  


Hesitantly, Chekov pretended everything made sense and jumped back into talking about the diffusion of sub-tropical palm trees and cross-hybridization with palm trees on the northern Pacific coast. On any other day, Sulu would have been able to drag a topic like that on enthusiastically until the cafe closed.  


Jim wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Chekov for being painfully unaware, or if it would be better to kill Sulu to put him out of his misery.  


Before he could decide, Sulu violently stood up from the table, almost knocking over his second chai tea latte of that morning.  


“Oh for fucks sake, kid!” He almost yelled, silencing not only Chekov but also the rest of the customers in the cafe, who were now all looking at him.  


Sulu grabbed Chekov’s face in both hands. The poor kid was equal parts shocked and mortified, his face turning almost completely red.  
 _“I JUST REALLY FUCKING LIKE YOU, OKAY?”_  


Everything was dead silent.  


Out of the corner of his eye Jim could see Uhura smiling. It was a rare occurrence when they had shifts together.(So rare it was kind of scary.)  


“Oh…Okay.” Chekov slowly broke into a stupid grin. Sulu disregarded the fact that all eyes were on the two of them and took the opportunity to practically smash their mouths together.  


The entire cafe started cheering and Sulu started laughing and they had to break apart before he leaned too much and knocked everything off the table. He still had one hand on Chekov’s face and Chekov was holding the other like his life depended on it.  


“Why did you not just say so?” He asked, and Jim repressed the urge to groan.  


During the commotion, nobody had noticed the repairman(who Jim realized had never actually introduced himself)standing in the doorway like he was in the middle of a flashmob.  


“I like this cafe!” He said, “It’s exciting!”


	5. in an oddly scientific way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologize enough for going so long between chapters, guys. As a combination thank-you and please-forgive-me gesture, I revised the plot so that this chapter will be more fluff than anything.  
> On the bright side, the fic is almost completed, so it'll be harder for me to screw this up, right? 
> 
> I wish everyone a happy holidays full of gay space nerds and I hope you can forgive me for walking out on this for what felt like forever.

Fifteen minutes after the party’s allocated start time, Chekov showed up with a questionable supply of vodka, and the party actually started. Bing Crosby was playing(at first it could be described as “blasting”, but Spock managed to lower the volume after ten consecutive requests) and the small crowd of people were all talking and laughing like they’d been friends forever while they drank their way to Christmas Eve. Jim sat down on one of the barstools and tried to remember the last time he was the only sober one at a party. It ended up being some bullshit number like ten years. Thankfully, no one had reached the sloppy, uncoordinated state of intoxication. Uhura and the repairman(who had since introduced himself as Scotty)were drinking red wine straight out of the bottle and laughing at each other’s dance moves, Chekov had roped Spock into some hardly intelligible conversation about astrophysics, and Sulu was watching Chekov with the stupidest look of adoration the world had ever seen. If he couldn’t get drunk, Jim sure as hell was going to collect some pictures for blackmail.  

“For god’s sake, Jim, stop looking so pathetic. Drink egg nog or something and have fun with us.” Uhura tried to look menacing while she danced in a less-than-graceful manner to _Winter Wonderland_. It wasn’t really working out for her, because she mostly just looked beautiful and stupidly happy. “You’re not at work. I won’t kill you for smiling.”

“I’m having a perfectly ok amount of fun,” Jim deadpanned, “and you already know I’m allergic to nutmeg.”

She waved her hand at him dismissively and untangled herself from Scotty.

“Here. Open my gift for you at least.” She picked up a neatly wrapped box from under the cafe’s fake, three foot tall Christmas tree and dropped it on to his lap.

“Oh you shouldn’t have.” Jim whimsically shook the box next to his ear and Uhura raised an eyebrow in amusement(which is something both her and Spock do. Jim has yet to figure out who the gesture originated from). He started tearing away the glittery red paper, slowly attracting everyone else’s attention.

“Oh wow, okay. You actually shouldn’t have.” Jim picked the sweater up out of the box. It was a dark green color with flecks of gold thread. He didn’t think he had ever worn, let alone held, an article of clothing this nice looking. “This looks really expensive.”

“I like to keep up a reputation of being a fantastic gift-giver.” Uhura half-smiled at him, which was something she hadn’t done since he was a stranger, hungover and soaking wet and crumpling a newspaper in one hand. She looked at people like it was her job, like it was imperative for her to figure out everything about someone with a single glance. Tonight, Jim noticed, it felt less like Uhura was obligated to look at him, and more like he was someone worth looking at.

“Now put it on. It’ll bring out your eyes.”

After a couple seconds of watching Jim attempt to change into the sweater while maintaining some dignity, Chekov suggested everyone open their gifts for each other.

They sat down on the floor next to their tiny Christmas tree, lights shining in everyone’s eyes and making Jim forget any of their troubles existed. It was just one big, happy, drunk(except for Jim), family.

Which was an ironic statement, because their family consisted of a recovering alcoholic, a college student who could hardly speak English, a vandal with a Master’s degree, a business owner who should be a model, a Vulcan who lives on Earth and makes coffee, and a maintenance man with a Scottish accent whose name they had just learned an hour ago.

But it felt like family, and it felt like Christmas, and it was the exact opposite of why Jim had started drinking in the first place.

Scotty and Uhura ended up buying each other the same red scarf, which made everyone laugh, even Spock with the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly. In between the excited gasps and shared laughter of gift-giving, Jim was planning out how he would get Spock to talk to him again without the awkward _sorry about that thing I did where I tried to kiss you I promise I’m emotionally stable and not a sexual predator_ conversation. He figured his best bet was to slip in a brief apology while Spock opened his present, and then distract him by asking about origami or science or something.

Jim took a deep breath and moved towards Spock. The gift he’d bought was pretty simple. Jim went downtown to an art supplies store and had origami paper custom printed with photographs of space and constellations. He figured it would be personal enough without showing how stupidly in love he is. That thought, of course, happened before the incident with the lights and the street kissing.

“Jim.”

“Spock. Hey.”

They stared at each other for .8 seconds and Jim wanted to set himself on fire.

“Here.” He practically shoved the box into Spock’s hands.

Spock opened it slowly, so as not to rip the paper. Jim forgot about his plan for a hasty apology and just watched.

“This is lovely, Jim.”

“Yeah, I just kinda-”

“Thank you.”

“I mean-”

Jim could feel Spock staring him down.

 

_Oh, fuck._

“Listen, Spock, I’m...sorry.”

“Are you apologising because I am satisfied with your gift?”

“No. I’m glad you’re satisfied. I mean about...the thing.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim lowered his voice to a half whisper.

“The thing where I kind of kissed you in the street without asking if you were okay with it. It’s...not something I usually do. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything.” Jim mentally high-fived himself for not sounding like a total idiot. Maybe sobriety was something he could get used to.

“Jim.”

“I mean, you probably can already guess I have a...thing. For you. At least I’m pretty sure I do. It might just be some sort of emotional distress but-”

Spock reached out and grabbed Jim’s wrist. He had to remind himself to keep breathing.

“Jim. Please cease avoiding eye contact with me.

“I was not uncomfortable. Your actions were unexpected, but not unwelcome.” Spock’s hand remained around Jim’s wrist, but the grip softened slightly. “If your attraction is legitimate, and not a manifestation of your emotional distress, I would be amenable to the progression of our relationship.”

Jim finally met Spock’s eyes. He found himself at a loss for words, but couldn’t stop the giant smile that started to take over his face.

“Really?” He whispered.

Spock nodded and released his wrist. Jim took the opportunity to interlock their fingers together.

Suddenly Uhura whooped and everyone else started cheering and muttering _it’s about time_ , and Jim realized that even though they were whispering, it was obvious what had just happened. He then realized that he didn’t give a shit, and went back to grinning stupidly at Spock as they both blushed from embarrassment and a little bit of relief.

“I also bought you a gift.” Spock said, reaching under the tree with his other arm(so as to keep holding hands with Jim). Just as expected, it was a very neatly wrapped box, with a tag that read: _To Jim Kirk, From S’chn T’gai Spock_.

Jim tried to imitate Spock in unwrapping it, occasionally glancing up from the gift. Everyone around the tree was watching.

“Oh come on, open it.” Uhura finally said.

He gave up and tore the paper, revealing one of those white boxes you get from clothing stores. Jim wondered if Uhura had put him up to this. Spock nodded and Jim lifted the top off.

Inside the box was a leather jacket, dark brown and probably twice as good quality as his old one when he first bought it.

“Wow.”

He unzipped it and felt the inside. It would definitely do a better job keeping him warm in this weather. Jim held it out in front of him.

“Spock this is perfect.”

“Ironically enough, I didn’t help Spock pick that one out.” Uhura stood up from the floor, brushing the paper off of her leggings. “That was all him.”

Jim lowered the jacket and, for a second, thought he caught Spock smiling a little bit. Even if it was just on the inside, his usual blank expression at least felt happier than usual.

***

Around midnight, the atmosphere had died down to a small crowd of sleepy, eggnog scented partygoers, swaying back and forth in the middle of the cafe to the endless holiday playlist. Jim and Spock were sitting on barstools, occasionally talking and enjoying the new level of comfort their relationship had reached. Spock was making roses out of his new origami paper.

“How did you know I needed a new jacket?” Jim asked, leaning against the counter and looking sideways at Spock.

He looked up from the paper in his hands.

“You speak as though I have not seen the previous jacket you owned. I calculated that if you were to continue wearing that jacket, your chances of developing hypothermia would rise to seventy six point three five percent by the end of the month.”

“How...thoughtful of you. To calculate.” Jim smiled, knowing that someone cared for him, even if it was in an oddly scientific way.

“Your body has yet to fully adjust to this climate. I was merely-”

“I know, I know. I’m not mocking you or anything.”

They sat in silence as Spock completed another rose and put it on the counter next to Jim. He felt his insides get all warm at the gesture, something that probably hadn’t happened to him since high school.

“I had to go to like five different stores to find this paper, you know.”

“I was under the impression that you had this custom made.”

“Not very many people do custom paper like this anymore. You chose a sort of...archaic hobby.” Spock looked at him, his face showing what Jim would later identify as sass.

“Alcoholism predates origami by centuries.”

“Oh wow. If I had known you were this much of an ass I wouldn’t have tried to kiss you last week.” Jim still couldn’t help laughing. Spock’s eyes adopted a sort of sparkle to them and he stopped folding the paper in his hands. The conversation trailed off, the two of them content to just be with each other. Jim smiled to himself, still in disbelief that things were actually working out for him this time.

A few minutes later, Uhura raised her head from it’s place on Scotty’s shoulder and checked the time. Sulu was practically asleep, his head resting on one of the wooden tables. Uhura looked in their direction and Chekov shook him awake.

“Alright everyone, start putting your clothes back on so we can all go home.” The rest of them silently agreed and started cleaning up a little. Jim put his new jacket on and admired the fit of it, making a mental note to throw away the old one as soon as possible.

Chekov took all of the leftover drinks back to his apartment, with Sulu following him out of the door. Scotty offered to stay behind and help with cleanup, but Uhura insisted he wasn’t needed. She emphasized her point with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to call him the next day before all but pushing him outside.

In the end it was Jim and Spock who were the last to leave the cafe, because Uhura wasn’t sober and Spock took extra time to carefully pack up his origami paper. Jim wiped down the tables and nodded at Uhura on her way out. She responded with a smile, and he wondered if everything was going to be different after tonight, or if it was just the alcohol.

Once again, Jim and Spock found themselves standing on the empty sidewalk, looking at the lights in the cafe window. Except this time, their hands were wound tightly against the cold, and Jim’s mind wasn’t reeling over every detail of the scenario. Wanting to prolong the closeness, he brought up another question.

“Spock, I was wondering.”

Spock gave an unspoken invitation to continue.

“A while ago, when Uhura told me I could work here, she said it wasn’t her idea. Does that mean you convinced her to give me the job?”

It was silent for a minute.

“Technically I did not convince Nyota of anything. I mentioned the similarity of your situation to that of mine when she employed me, which may have been a factor in her decision.”

“What do you mean? About the situation thing.”

“The story is long.”

“I don’t care.”

Spock stood thinking for a minute.

“Four years ago my mother was diagnosed with a mutated form of Chondrosarcoma.”

“And your mother is human, right?

“She was, yes.”

Jim felt his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach. Spock continued speaking with a sickening monotone.

“My father insisted that her chance of survival would increase if we moved her to a terran hospital. There is one here that specializes in bone cancers, among other diseases. Her doctors worked to find a treatment, but because her diagnosis was previously unheard of, they knew from the day she was admitted that success was not likely.”

Spock looked away, his eyes focusing on a point in the distance. Jim swallowed hard, not wanting to hear any more.

“Six months after my mother was moved to Seattle, she requested I visit her. I purchased an apartment one point four miles from the hospital.”

“She died four months, two weeks, and five days after I arrived.”

“I didn’t-”

“It was my intent to return to Vulcan and continue my studies after my mother’s funeral. I did not follow through with that plan.” He sounded almost ashamed that his mother’s death had such an effect on him. Jim tried to hurry it along so they could change the subject.

“And...Uhura offered you a job so you could stay?”

“I was a frequent customer. We became acquainted over time.”

“Look, that’s...I’m really sorry, Spock. I had no idea. I’m sorry I asked.”

Spock turned to look at Jim again.

“It is over. This city no longer...haunts me, as it previously did.”

Jim tried to smile when he realized the weight of what Spock had just done. He was probably one of very few people in Spock’s life that was willingly told so much personal information at once. Jim wondered what they must think of him on Vulcan, after he let his life be governed by emotion. He was overcome by the urge to wrap Spock up in a blanket and kiss his forehead between mutterings of _it’s okay_ and _we love you_ and _you’re the best vulcan i’ve ever met and that’s all that matters_. He settled instead for shuffling closer and watching the lights in the window flicker.

It was Spock who broke the silence next.

“Do you plan to return to Starfleet?”

Jim sighed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think they’d take me back even if I tried.”

Spock nodded. Jim turned them around so they were facing each other.

“Besides, maybe I could get used to this life. Making coffee, getting rained on all the time, seeing you three times a week. Maybe I don’t need space.” He said. “Maybe I can make my own universe here in Seattle.”

“That was poetic, Jim.”

“Thank you.” He leaned forward, and then stopped himself. “Wait, can I kiss you again? For real this time, though. Our conversation has been kind of emotional and I want to make sure you know I’m doing this because I like you a lot and not just because you told me secrets.”

“Yes.”

Jim smiled and closed the gap between them. The first kiss they had shared may have been pleasant, but he quickly realized that it was nothing compared to this. There wasn’t an overhanging feeling of urgency and rejection. Jim focused on the motion of their lips together, and could feel the rest of the world dissolve into a snowy blur. His free hand moved up to Spock’s chest, grasping the rough wool of his coat, and they stayed like that, gently holding each other as if they had all the time in the world. For once, it didn’t matter what Jim had done and who he used to be, because at that moment he had found a place where he felt wanted. For once, tangled in Spock’s embrace, he felt like he belonged.

Several short goodbye kisses later, they finally accepted that it was time to go home.

_After all_ , Jim thought as he laid down in the bed he only started to consider his own, _I could, theoretically, stay here with Spock and Bones and Christine and Sulu and Chekov and Uhura and that weird Scottish guy and be happy for the rest of my life. If I wanted._

For the first time in maybe half a year, he slept the entire night through.

 


	6. everyone was happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone, thank you so much for all of your support through this whole thing. to be honest, i got a little stuck on coming up with a real plot for this last chapter, so i tied up the strings with some fluff and feelings. it's a lot shorter than usual, but i made sure to end on a cute note. i hope you all like it! 
> 
> and the rating did change to M, but it's a baby M. 
> 
> i'm working on several other stories right now, some of which are also star trek, so i'll be back with more, and hopefully next time it won't take a whole year to finish updating.

A year ago, Jim believed he had run out of first times. At least, he had run out of the ones that mattered. The early ones: his first word, his first steps, his first broken bone, all of those were written down in a fill-in-the-blank scrapbook that Frank probably threw away at some point.

He ran away from home for the first time at just seven years old, trying to follow Sam. It had ended with shaky fingers at a payphone twenty miles out of Riverside, his voice breaking as he asked his mom to pick him up.

His first girlfriend was in the fifth grade. They decided they were a couple on the last day of January, and she broke up with him gently, if not awkwardly, halfway through the Valentine’s Day dance. His first boyfriend wouldn’t come along until college.

Jim had gotten drunk for the first time, a fifteen-year-old at a party full of upperclassmen, which led to his first hangover, the kind of morning full of shame and sickness and sobbing that he would become all too familiar with.

He had sex for the first time at a New Year’s Eve party when he was seventeen. It was a messy, awkward twenty two minutes in the guest bedroom of a classmate he had never talked to in person. Jim remembered lying on the bed alone afterwards, wondering why he didn’t feel any different and aching for something, anything more to convince him that he wasn’t the most secretly hated student at Riverside High School.

He thought his first best friend was Mark, one of his classmates during elementary school that would talk to him during recess and invite him over, but he realized he didn’t know what a best friend really was until he’d met Bones. They were roommates during their freshman year at Ole Miss. Even when Jim graduated early while Bones was only halfway through premed, they had moved in together. Bones was the first person who put up with Jim, even at his worst, when he was drowning himself in cheap liquor and the arms of strangers. He’d taught him what it felt like to be cared for, and what it felt like to care for someone. And then Jim had one too many bad nights and more than one too many regrets and he left their apartment with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t return until years later, but for some reason Bones still wanted him around.

Living in Seattle, Jim found himself experiencing a lot of first times he didn’t know would feel so important.

His job at the cafe was his first experience working in the food industry. It was neither as good or as bad as people made it up to be, but the company of his coworkers and regulars and the lingering smell of coffee beans compensated for the occasional awful customer.

The first time Jim vandalized public property, surprisingly, wasn’t until after he’d met Sulu. They took a train one evening to the bay and, in the dark of the night, covered the docks in tiny yellow stars using stencils they bought from a toy store. Jim felt a sort of innocent adrenaline, and realized that it was also the first time he’d broken the rules without being motivated by the feeling that he had something to prove.

Spock wasn’t Jim’s first boyfriend, but he was the first Vulcan who didn’t utterly hate him, and he was the first boyfriend who didn’t leave him when his emotional scars came to light.

Spock had talked about bonding, its significance to him, the benefits and inconveniences for couples, but he didn’t try to subconsciously pressure him into anything. Jim was hesitant, afraid to let someone get close enough to see every part of him, because that always ended with the other person seeing something that they weren’t willing to live with. Spock understood.

That almost scared Jim even more.

A month after they had started dating, in the aftermath of Chinese takeout eaten on the counter of Spock’s efficiently-sized kitchen, Jim thought that Spock had never looked so beautiful as he did under the cold overhead light, wearing a white t shirt that smelled like jasmine and laundry detergent and looking at him over a box of lo mein. Jim reached out and pulled him close and made sure that they didn’t separate for the rest of the night. Clothes hit the floor in a trail to the bedroom and Spock traced every new inch of skin, holding him like he was the most valuable thing in the universe. Early on, Jim had given up on the idea that sex meant something to two people, that it could be anything more than physical pleasure. He’d scoffed at words like intimacy, settling instead for meaningless encounters that filled the emptiness he felt until he could find something, or someone, else.

Spock was that someone else. Jim’s hands shook, his voice quivered, overwhelmed by all of it. Overwhelmed not just from the feeling of Spock’s skin against his, hot against the cold January air, but by the emotions swimming between them. The trust, the longing, the relief, the realization that this is what he needed all along.

“Do you want to stop?” Spock nearly whispered. They were sitting on the bed, pressed against each other. Spock pulled back a little bit. His hands moved, settling tentatively on Jim’s waist.

“No.” Jim trailed his hands down Spock’s chest, inching closer. “I just, I need…”

“What do you need” Their foreheads pressed against each other. Jim sighed, trying to stop his heart from beating so fast because _this is what it feels like to be loved_.

“I need...can we just, slow down a little bit?”

“Yes.” Spock breathed, his breath ghosting against Jim’s mouth. Jim rested his head in the crook of Spock’s shoulder and let himself be loved.

 

A few days later, tangled in the sheets of that same bed, Spock raised his hand to Jim’s face and they bonded for the first time. Jim was hit immediately with waves of emotions he didn’t know he could feel. He thought it would be too much, but as he fell asleep surrounded by the presence of the first man to really love him, he wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner.

 

***

 

The month of March was full of nearly constant rain showers and a surprisingly less busy cafe. Jim stopped dreading his morning shifts, and more often than not found himself thinking about Spock in a very dumb and kind of romantic way. He was practically living half at Spock’s apartment and half at the one he shared with Bones. Everyone was happy.

Spock’s apartment, at first glance, seemed overly neat and unoccupied, but as Jim spent more time there he started to notice things. All over the apartment, resting on a bookshelf or a windowsill or neatly lined along the top of the refrigerator, were items, memories, full of significance. On Spock’s average-sized coffee table that, as Jim was told, came in a set with the chair and the loveseat, there were small black picture frames: Spock’s mother, Vulcan landscape, and an animal that he didn’t recognize. Instead of bookends, the top shelf of books were held together by a small cactus plant. Jim smiled at that one, running his fingers along the bookshelf and skimming the titles. According to Spock, some of the items in his apartment had belonged to his mother when she lived in Seattle. Jim wondered if Spock was conflicted over keeping his mother’s things once she was gone, or if he hadn’t given it a second thought.

His favorite part of the apartment, though, was the windowsill in Spock’s bedroom. It was like a miniature zoo, or the procession of animals onto Noah’s Ark, a neat line of origami figures all in different colors. Right on the end was a wrinkled blue crane, which Jim had made, and a rose with constellations on it.

 

Jim woke up to soft gray light spilling into Spock’s bedroom. The tea kettle started whistling and he groaned in response. Spock said good morning from the kitchen.

“Do we have work today?” He mumbled, his face trying to adjust to being awake again.

“Yes.” Spock padded into the bedroom holding two mugs. Jim didn’t remember when he started liking tea, but suddenly his life had fallen into a routine where Spock made both of them green tea before breakfast, which Jim followed up with coffee once he got to work.

Jim held the mug carefully and looked up at Spock. He was already dressed, and his eyes were scanning over Jim in a way that he’d learned to identify as affectionate. Jim stared back. This was another routine they had.

 

When they got to the cafe Bones and Christine were already waiting, huddled under the famous fuchsia umbrella. They both looked like they’d gotten approximately 12 minutes of sleep, although Christine’s body reacted to sleep deprivation by more or less being terrifyingly upbeat. She was talking and laughing about something while Leonard stared at his soaking wet shoes like a very central part of his soul had died. Jim gave Spock the umbrella and unlocked the door, shuffling the both of them inside.

“I don’t even want to _think_ about what’s going on at the hospital right now, let alone talk about it.” Bones fell heavily into one of the chairs. Christine shook the umbrella and followed Jim to the counter.

“A taco stand opened up between 1st and 3rd two days ago. Twenty--do you have any croissants?--twenty seven cases of food poisoning already. And it’s bad. We’ve been taking double shifts just to keep the place sanitary.”

Spock handed her a croissant from the batch Nyota made the night before. Jim started up the espresso machine.

“It’s not double shifts. It’s exploitation of labor.” Bones grumbled. He was still fixated on the state of his shoes, even though the bottom half of his scrubs were sagging with varying amounts of rainwater.

“Are you getting paid overtime?” Jim asked. Christine shook her head no.

“We’re running out of bedpans, though. Leonard-” Christine lowered her voice, “Leonard threw one across a hallway yesterday. It completely shattered.”

“That fucker deserved its end.”

“Leonard, are you aware that bedpans are not living?”

Bones didn’t turn to glare at Spock, but the feeling was there. Jim brought him coffee in the biggest cup they had, before he could throw Spock across the room, while Christine took a seat at the table. Bones crashed his head onto her shoulder, closing his eyes, and she reached over and patted his knee.

Jim noted that in some ways, especially today, the two of them were complete opposites. Christine was soft and cheerful while Bones was harsh and bitter, but they both shared a sharp intelligence and sense of dedication. As much as they complained about their jobs, they really did seem to care about making the world a better place. They kept each other balanced, and when nobody was looking, they would exchange glances as if to say _I still can’t believe this person is with me_.

Jim wondered if he could ever have something like that.

He turned around, catching Spock’s eyes. _Maybe this is how it starts_ , he thought as he returned to the register. He brushed their fingers together underneath the counter and Spock responded by holding his hand properly. Jim smiled, feeling the edges of his fingertips, skin made rough with hundreds of tiny paper cuts.

  
  
  



End file.
